Behind This Mask
by kellyanne
Summary: Samantha Carstairs has lost more in her seventeen years then most could in a lifetime. After both her father and brother die, she’s left to keep her family from starving. Her solution: disguise herself and become a newsie. Only she never planned on Spot
1. Her Plan

Behind This Mask

By Kellyanne

Rated: PG-13…it'll have inappropriate language in a while, don't worry.

Summary: Samantha Carstairs has lost more in her seventeen years then most could in a lifetime. After both her father and brother die, she's left to support her family and keep them from starving. Her solution: disguise herself as her deceased brother and become a newsie. After meeting Brooklyn's fearless leader, though, pretending to be a boy seems nearly impossible because she may just be falling in love. 

Chapter 1

            With the turn of the century, many changes took place in New York City. Subtle, almost unnoticeable changes, but they still took place. Between the beginning of 1899 and the beginning of 1900, the newsies of New York City went from being a pathetic horde of orphans to a proud, powerful army of voices that wouldn't be silenced. These defiant boys, once helpless, had defeated a giant. Strengthened every minute, powered every day, these boys made their dream a reality and grew to be comrades, all fighting for the same cause. 

            When 1900 rolled around, the fight had been long over, but the army had grown even closer. Brooklyn and Manhattan newsies had bound themselves into a brotherhood. "_I'll watch your back if you'll watch mine_" was their pledge to each other, sealing the promise with a spit-shake. Jack Kelly, the strike's leader, and Spot Conlon, the leader of the Brooklyn newsies, strengthened an already strong friendship. Their alignment alone brought thousands of newsies from all over the city together.

            The beauty of the year 1900 wasn't the fellowship that formed between most of the New York newsies, though. It was the fact that you were immediately accepted if you joined the newsies. And this was exactly what Samantha "Sam" Carstairs needed… a chance.

~

            In a small building that lay in a middle-class neighborhood of Manhattan, a family of a mother and three children could be found. The mother was thin and pale, her cheeks blemished with tears that had fallen for almost a year. The youngest child was just as thin, his hair tangled into a mess no brush could improve. His name was Troy. Innocent and naive, he was only six years old. Two years older, at eight, was Julie, a lively girl with bouncy blonde curls. 

            Then came the twins, Samuel and Samantha. The two were inseparable, wrecking havoc wherever they went. The two had accumulated more notes from teachers then most of the other children in their classes combined. Despite their semi-demonic nature, the two were the best of children, loyal, proud and brave. They would've both been seventeen. 

            In January of 1899, Mr. Peter Carstairs died of a heart attack, caused by too much stress from his job. He left Samuel to help support the family along with his mother, Margaret. He went to work in a factory, quitting school to put food on the table. The job paid fairly well, giving the Carstairs enough to live off of. Then, in the beginning of July, some of the factory workers decided that it would be best to join the Trolley Strike. They weren't happy with their wages. Other workers wanted things to stay the same, wishing to keep the peace at their place of work. As is in all cases, fighting between two opposing sides of an argument was inevitable. The lucky left the factory that day with only a few scratches and bruises. Some were more severely injured, breaking arms or legs that made them liabilities to the factory. They were fired from their jobs. These few were still lucky compared to some of the other workers.

            Samuel wasn't lucky in either aspect. He was killed, leaving a mother whom had to try and earn enough money to keep her family alive.

            '_It only happened last July_ ' Samantha Carstairs thought as she sat, alone, on the fire escape outside her window. She and Samuel had used to build forts on it, much to their mother's dismay. It didn't seem like it had been a year since her brother had been alive. 

            Sam sighed, thinking about the state of disarray that her family had been in since last July. They all went to bed with rumbling stomachs each night, and their mother woke up early to make breakfast and then go to work as a seamstress. Sam had offered to get a job, but her mother denied her requests at every turn, asking her if she wanted to end up like her brother. That statement always stood as the end of an argument.

            "Mama, I'm going to do the shopping for you," Sam called into the house, taking the fire escape steps two at a time. Sometimes she found that she had to escape from her home, smothered by memories of her father, her brother…but mostly of the rape. 

            Tears were filling her eyes rapidly as she made her way to the market, remembering the night when her innocence had been snatched away from her. She had only been fourteen when it happened, foolishly walking alone down the New York streets as she traveled home through Queens. Two men grabbed her and pulled her into an alley. She had run home crying and Samuel had gone to the police the next morning, but nobody was ever punished for the crime. Rape was a common thing and the bulls had bigger things to worry about. 

            "Are youse a'right?" Came a concerned voice from behind her. Sam wiped away her tears before turning around. She somehow managed to hit the man before her with the basket she carried for groceries. 

            "I…I'm sorry. Are you ok?" She managed to choke out. Any other words flew from her head as she met the clear blue eyes of the man she had just hit. 

            "Aw, I'm a'right. Takes a bit more den dat to permanently scar me," He smiled briefly before meeting her own watery gaze, "Now youse, on the odder hand, don't seem a'right at all. What's da matta?"

            "Oh…n…nothing. I just…needed to cry a bit," Sam was still too mesmerized by those cool, liquid pools that were making her melt despite herself to say anything intellectual. Despite her fear of men, despite her insecurities, despite everything, she felt like she could trust him. It was in his eyes.

            "Dis is one of those 'raw nerves,' ain't it?"

            "In a way," Sam muttered, turning her attention to the food that lay before her for sale. She took out a handful of coins, sighing at the small sum it added up to. It was barely enough to buy a few apples, let alone a week's worth of food.

            "Ya look confused."

            "Oh…I…just thought you looked familiar. Are you from Manhattan?" She lied. If anyone like him lived near her, she'd have known. There was something in his eyes that reminded her of her brother and that was rare. She would've remembered if she had seen him before. 

            The man flashed her a lopsided smile that made her heart skip a beat, "Nah, from Brooklyn. Maybe ya've hearda me. Name's Spot Conlon."

            "No…sorry…you don't sound as familiar as I thought," A ghost of a smile crossed her lips, barely lingering long enough to count.

            "Aw, well, if ya ever hafta 'cry a bit' like ya said, I've got two shoulders, even if I ain't as familiar as ya thought" Another smile crossed the lips of the dark-haired Brooklyn man. 

            "H…how can you do that?" Sam asked, tears building up in her throat as well as her eyes. 

            "Do what?" Spot asked. He looked genuinely confused. 

            "Do that…just…be so concerned," Her voice cracked, "You…don't even know me…and you…just…" She burst into tears before she could even string together a complete sentence, stumbling forward as she let out all the emotion that she hadn't been allowed to show at home. She had had to be strong for her family, even if it was tearing her up inside. All the pain that she had felt was now spilling out into Spot's arms, which were wrapped tightly around her waist. 

            "Shh…it's a'right. Just cry."

            "H…how?" She managed to choke out.

            "How ta cry? I ain't an expert, but I think ya got dat field covered."

           Sam shook her head, tears splashing everywhere, "N…no…how can you comfort someone…you don't even know? Like I'm an old friend."

           "If da hundred papes in me hand ain't clue enough, I'm a newsie. We stick togetha; help each other…it just comes with da friendship, with da territory."

            "Th…thank you," Sam whispered, pulling away from Spot. He frowned and she bit her lip, "I'm sure you have better places to be then comforting some pathetic girl."

            Spot's blue eyes darkened, but he nodded, most likely seeing the silent plea in her eyes, "Yeah…I guess you're right. These papes ain't gonna sell themselves." Slowly, reluctantly, Spot turned away and walked over to a group of men and boys, each armed with a stack of freshly printed newspapers.

            Sam sighed and started walking back towards her home, thinking about how great it would be to be accepted. Being a newsie seemed like the only place in the world where she could find comfort. If only she wasn't a girl. Then she could be one of them and bring money to her family at the same time.

            And that's when she got the idea…

~

            Not far from Newsies Square stood Tibby's, a small diner made infamous by serving as the headquarters of the 1899 newsies strike. 

           Standing in front of the building was a tall man, at least six foot, with a black cowboy hat shadowing his features. A cigarette was lit in his hand, a bluish-gray cloud of smoke rising into the New York sky.

            The man's eyes were searching for someone from underneath the brim of his hat. Finally, after waiting for a good twenty minutes, his features softened a bit and he smiled.

             "Heya Cowboy. How's life been treatin' ya?" Asked a dark-haired man armed with a gold-tipped stick and a slingshot.

             "Ain't been too bad, Spot. Besides…ya know…" Jack Kelly's features hardened, his eyes telling Spot that his thoughts had turned to Sarah Jacobs once again. 

             "Yeah, I know."

             "No, ya don't. Youse lucky ya don't know!" Jack snapped, turning his back to his best friend and striking the side of Tibby's with his fist. 

             "Jack," Spot said calmly, his voice barely raised but still just as powerful as if it had been. He placed himself between Jack and the wall and caught his friend's fist, "Youse reacting just like ya should be. When ya love somebody, it ain't easy to let them go. It's even harder for ya because she died so fast. Youse gotta stop blamin' yourself, Jack. Youse couldn't have stopped her death even if ya had tried." 

             "Spot, she was sick! She had been for a while, but I was too blind to notice dat all her coughing wasn't just from a cold!" Jack's head fell forward and his breathing deepened, "Tuberculosis. Ya know, I woulda told ya it was some place in Europe or somewhere. Everyday, I would look at her, thinking nothin was wrong, and, all da while, she had a disease eatin' away at her lungs!"

             "Jack! What woulda happened if ya had noticed?? Ya would've brought her to some crackpot old doctor and then what?? Hmm?? There ain't no cure for tuberculosis, Jack. Ya couldn't of done a thing even if ya had known!" Spot had watched his friend battle with his emotions for months and, now that they were finally reaching the surface, he couldn't help but yell. It wasn't Jack's fault and he had to realize that. 

             "I wish it had been me," Jack said softly, his voice thick and hoarse. 

             "Jack, I know it ain't easy for ya, but don't wish dat on yourself." 

             The Manhattan leader inhaled deeply, his eyes closing for a second. When they opened, they were glazed with pain, but full of a bit of life that had been lost for months, "I ain't ready ta move on yet, Spot."

             "And I ain't saying youse gotta right this minute. Take your time, Jack."

             Both silently smiled, turning towards the entrance to Tibby's.

             "Hey Spot?"

             "Hmm?"

             "Thanks."

~

             Sam slowly unraveled the long braid that her hair was held in, running her fingers through the silky blonde tresses. Letting out a quavering breath, she reached for the scissors that were in her sewing box. The blades were cool and made her shiver, both from the iciness of their feel and the change they would bring. 

             "There's no turning back now, Sam. It's for your family," She whispered to herself, taking a small bit of her hair in between her fingers and raising the scissors with her other hand. She closed her eyes and snipped the piece as though she were cutting Troy's hair. The lock fluttered soundlessly to the ground, resting at her feet. She shivered, suddenly feeling sick. She couldn't do this! There were other ways to get a job, even if her mother was opposed to the idea. She could stop right now and leave the rest of her hair like it was, and then ask her mother if she could get a job as a seamstress. 

             "It won't work," She whispered to herself, taking a larger chunk of hair in her fingers. She knew that it would take something drastic to convince her mother to let her get a job. Something like taking on your brother's identity. 

             Slowly, the weight of her hair began to lessen and the pile of blonde tresses at her feet began to grow larger. She kept her eyes closed the whole time, only opening them to make sure she didn't stab herself with the scissors.

             Sam took a deep breath after she had finished cutting her hair, her hand wrapped around the handle of a small mirror that was facedown on the table. She felt her heart stop when she glanced into the small piece of glass. She didn't recognize the person staring back at her. It wasn't Samantha Carstairs that glanced through the mirror to meet her green eyes.

             It was Samuel.    

~

             Sam remembered the day when her brother told their mother that he was quitting school to work in a factory. Their mother, pale and thin, always giving off that air of sever frailty, took everyone in the small apartment by surprise when she reacted to the news. First, she grew extremely quiet, her small hands clenching and unclenching. When Samuel quietly whispered 'Mama,' she blew up, screaming about how he was throwing away his education for a job that he didn't need. The two didn't speak for a week.

             Sam had thought that that was the extent of her mother's anger. She was very, very wrong.

             As she sat at the kitchen table, her hair cut to the nape of her neck and her dress tossed aside for a pair of her brother's old clothes, her mother slowly paced around the room, her hands in fists at her sides.

             "Samantha Caroline Carstairs…_what_…_were_…_you_…_thinking_???" Her mother hissed, "Are you doing this to torment me?? To remind me of your brother?? What did I do to deserve this?"  

             "Mama, I didn't do this to hurt you. We need money, Mama. We need someone else in the house working."

             "I've told you before that you will _not_ go to work and meet a fate like Samuel's!" Yelled the older woman, slamming her small fist against the table.

             "You can't stop me! We need the money, Mama! We're barely making enough to survive as it is and you know as well as I do that people don't need seamstresses during the entire summer season. The meager money we make will only get smaller as the season progresses. That's why I'm going to work!"

             "And what will you do?? Work in a factory and risk your life like your brother??"

             There it was. The classic line that had ended all arguments in the past. It wouldn't stop her this time, though, "I'm going to be a newsie, Mama. It's safe and respectable and…"

             "A _newsie_??? Respectable?? Those noisy ruffians who wreck havoc after they sell the morning paper?? The second they realize you're a girl, they'll ravage you and that'll be the end of it!!"

             Sam clenched her fist, remembering how Spot had treated her. He would never do that…he'd never hurt her or 'ravage' her, like her mother said.

             "Think about Troy and Julie, Mama. They're growing quickly. Do you really want them to grow up hungry?? Is that the kind of life you want to give them??" Sam almost felt bad about guilt-tripping her mother, but it was the only way to make this work. She wasn't going to have cut her hair for nothing. 

             "Samantha…"

             "Mama, I'm seventeen years old. I can take care of myself. Besides, nobody will know I'm a girl. I promise. The money will help us more then you will know, Mama. Just trust me enough to let me do this."

             Her mother sighed, her eyes falling on a framed picture of Sam's father and his children when they were all young, "Samantha…be careful."


	2. Welcome Ta Da Wonda'ful Woild A Newsies,...

**Behind This Mask**

**By:** Sweet Anne

**Rated**: PG-13…it'll have inappropriate language in a while, don't worry.

**Summary**: Samantha Carstairs has lost more in her seventeen years then most could in a lifetime. After both her father and brother die, she's left to support her family and keep them from starving. Her solution: disguise herself as her deceased brother and become a newsie. After meeting Brooklyn's fearless leader, though, pretending to be a boy seems nearly impossible because she may just be falling in love. 

**Thank yous**: **Ducks for cover** I'm trying to get this out fast….so I'm not gonna do shout-outs just yet. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, though. You girlies rock!!!!!!! 

Chapter 2

            Sam rose with the sun the next morning, dressing quietly in the best outfit of Samuel's that she could find. She made breakfast for Troy and Julie and made her mother a hot pot of chamomile tea. Finally, at quarter to seven, she pulled on a pair of old leather boots that had been her father's and stepped out of her bedroom window onto the fire escape. The air was cool and bit at the back of her neck. She wondered how men did it, walking out with their necks exposed to the harsh New York air. She shrugged, assuming that they were accustomed to it.

            The walk from her home to the place known as Newsies Square took about ten minutes, in which time Sam considered turning and running back to the apartment. She didn't think she could do it and thought that all the other newsies would know she was a girl or not accept her if they thought she was a boy. She only calmed down when she approached a large statue of Horace Greeley and saw two boys, probably around eleven or twelve years old, laughing and chatting with another young man, who must have been at least nineteen. Despite the evident age differences, they were talking and fooling around like the best of friends. Seeing that acceptance and warmth made Spot's words prove true. He hadn't been lying when he told her newsies stuck together and valued friendship. 

            As she walked past the boys, she noticed a large crowd by a set of iron gates. They all appeared to be preoccupied, waiting for the big, green gates to open into what appeared to be a graveyard of newspapers. Sam slowly approached them, trying her hardest not to be noticed. As she stood along the outskirts of the crowd, though, she noticed a familiar face that made her think about her brother. 

            David Jacobs.

            He and Samuel had been best friends when they went to school together. She hadn't heard anything from him since his father was injured in the same factory accident that had taken Samuel's life. 

            She felt like she was about to cry. David had always seemed like he would go to university and enter a good trade. Instead, he was working as a newsie, most likely for the same reason she was. His family probably needed him to quit school so they could eat every night.

            Her thoughts were interrupted when the big, iron gates creaked open and the entire crowd seemed to move as one huge mass into the distribution center of The World. Suddenly every fiber of her being filled with energy that she could barely contain and she felt like laughing and crying and dancing all at the same time. This wasn't a dream or a figment of her imagination. She was really standing with a bunch of newsies, about to buy her own stack of papers.

            "Hey, you a greenie?"

            Sam turned quickly, coming eye to eye with a man around her age, a cigarette in his hand. His skin was light brown, as was his hair, and he had big blue eyes that contrasted with the darkness of the rest of his face. She could tell he was Italian. 

            "A greenie??"

            The man chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, "Yeh, definitely a greenie. It means dat youse is new."

            Sam smiled, "Oh."

            "So, what brings ya into da wonderful world of sellin' papes?" He asked as he began to walk up a ramp towards a fat man distributing newspapers. 

            Sam quickly followed behind him, "My father and…" She paused. She couldn't say her brother had died. _She_ was now her brother, "My father and my sister both died and my family needs me to go to work."

            "Youse one of the lucky ones then. Do you know what half these guys would do to have a family ta work for?" The man's voice was sad, clearly pained by emotions.

            "Do you have family?" She asked slowly, hoping that he would say yes so she wouldn't feel guilty for bringing up the subject.

            "Nah."

            "I'm sorry," She whispered, noticing how his eyes fell to the ground as he spoke. He was silent as he walked up to the counter and waited for the fat man.

            "How many you want?" Asked the fat man, his dirty hand scratching at his even dirtier beard.

            "Hundred, Weasel. Ya should know by now that I always want a hundred," The man snapped, only making Sam feel guiltier. She had made him angry.

            The Italian man stormed off, quickly making his way out of the gates.

            "Don't got all day! Buy yer papes or stand aside!" Weasel hollered. She glared, but didn't retort.

            "Can I see the headline?" She asked, glancing quickly at the paper shoved in front of her. "Morrison's Charges To Be Investigated" was the headline. Sam crinkled her nose. Sounded like a boring article to put on the front page. 

            "Can ya hurry up a bit???" Weasel asked impatiently.

            "He'll take a hundred papes," Came a voice from behind her. She recognized it immediately. Too afraid to turn around, she handed Weasel the money and took her papers.

            "I don't want a hundred," She said softly as she began to walk towards the gates, hoping that David wouldn't follow.

            "Well, if you're the person I used to know, I'd say you're up for the challenge." 

            Sam took a deep breath, cursing silently. David had recognized her…well…he recognized Samuel. 

            "David…I didn't realize it was you. Of course I'm up for the challenge! You know me!!" It was a lie. She had always been the more adventurous, outgoing one. Samuel liked to lay as low as possible most of the time even though he usually got in trouble right along with her. 

            "Apparently. I mean, it's your first day and you've already got a hundred papes to sell. Even I didn't take that many my first day."

            Sam's eyes narrowed, "_You_ told Weasel to give _me_ a hundred." 

            David laughed, "You know, you really sounded like your sister right there." Sam froze.

            "W…what are you talking about? Are you calling me a girl??" She pasted a smile on her face to make it seem like she was joking. She had to convince David that she really was Samuel instead of his crazy sister. 

            David smiled, "Only an idiot would do that, Sam."

            The way he said 'Sam' made her shiver, like he knew exactly what she didn't want him to. Sam inadvertently smoothed a hand over her front, making sure that the cloth she'd used to bind her chest had done its job. With her luck, her breasts were probably clearly showing and David knew that she was Samantha instead of Samuel. She sighed in relief when nothing could be seen under her layers of clothes. 

            "So, you became a newsie?" She said, hoping that the subject change would keep the spotlight off of her. 

            "Yeah…er…a year ago in July. See, my dad got hurt at the factory where he worked and we didn't have money." David paused and thought for a moment, "Didn't you used to work in the same factory as him?"

            Sam bit her lip. Think, Samantha, think!

            "Sam…are you alright? You look like you're going to be sick."

            "Oh…I'm fine. Just…my…br," She stopped herself, almost saying brother, "My sister used to work there too. She died in that accident."

            "I'm sorry to hear that, Sam. I know how close you two were." David's eyes lowered to the papers in his hands and he started flicking them with his pointer finger. 

            "David…"

            "Hey, are you gonna come with us to Tibby's after you sell? We're all gonna hang out for a while like during the strike."

            "Sure…but David…what's the matter?" 

            David's eyes were dark with sadness, "Nothing. Everything's fine."

~

            Sam frowned as she watched David's retreating back. She wanted to know what was wrong with him. 

            Sighing, she turned away and began to walk in the opposite direction of David, her papers held in the crook of her arm. Where was she going to sell _one hundred_ papers??? She couldn't help but breath heavier then usual, thinking about what would happen if she, indeed, couldn't sell all her papers. There sure were a lot of newsies competing to sell the same headline. 

            "Youse don't wanna sell there. Dat's taking ya right into Queens and we ain't on good terms wit them." Sam heaved a sigh when she saw it was the Italian from before, the anger that had been on his face gone and replaced with a quirky smile.

            "Oh…ok." She said quietly, a wave of guilt washing over her. She felt terrible about before.

            "Da name's Striker Higgins, by the way. Don't think I gave ya it before." He smiled, and Sam wasn't sure if she was supposed to laugh. 

            "Striker?? Because of the strike??"

            He laughed, shaking his head as they continued to walk, "Nah, I barely did a thing during da strike. It was mostly Jack and Davey. Oh, and Spot." 

            She smiled when she heard Spot's name. If she ever got a chance, she'd have to thank him for helping her out, "So why are you called Striker?"

            He took a long drag pf his cigarette before even looking up to answer her, "Me father used to hit me and me mom around. She eventually died and then I couldn't take it anymore. I hit him back the next time he came after me, striking him until he…"

            She didn't need him to continue to know what happened. He had killed his father. 

            Striker chuckled, "Dat's the beautiful thing 'bout New York. They let a minor off for patricide because they knew I hadn't done it on purpose. I had all da bruises to prove dat I was defendin' meself. That's why the guys used to also call me Billy the Kid. Because I killed someone for tryin' to keep me down. Ya really shouldn't call me dat, though. It ain't a good title no more. Wit all the robberies and things happenin' around these parts, being nicknamed after an outlaw who robbed banks and killed people ain't a good thing." He laughed. Striker sure did have an odd sense of humor.

            "So you're an orphan?" She blurted out, wishing that she hadn't.

            "In a way, I guess. But I got me cousin, Race. His parents died when he was real young. So Race and me got each other and then we both got da newsies. Dat's a family in itself."

            Sam smiled. She didn't mind the idea of looking at the newsies as family. 

            "So, I never caught your name."

            "I never threw it," Sam said, letting a bit of what her mother called her "attitude" slip out. Striker chuckled.

            "Nah, ya didn't. Can I know now dat we've established dat we ain't played baseball with your name yet?" 

            "Sam Carstairs," She said, grinning.

            The two were silent as they walked, only speaking to shout out a very embellished version of the headline. One of her favorites of Striker's was 'Hundreds jump from the Brooklyn Bridge in mass suicide!" when, in all actuality, it was a single paragraph, page-nine story about a man who fell from a slippery dock and bumped is head. It worked, though, and she followed his lead, yelling out the most outrageous version of the headlines possible. 

            "Extra! Extra! Buildings in Harlem crumble after massive street brawl!!" She yelled, lightening the load on her shoulder by ten as people rushed to buy her papers. Striker laughed after reading the real headline of the story: Mailboxes Collapse After Two Children Fight In Harlem. 

            "Not bad for your first day," Striker commented as they walked back towards Tibby's. Sam simply grinned, too overwhelmed by the money jingling in her pocket to respond. 

~

            Spot and Jack stood at the back of Tibby's, away from the rest of the newsies. Spot could tell that Jack couldn't be near them at the moment. He was still having a hard time getting over Sarah, something that Spot didn't find surprising. _He_ had even taken a liking to the only daughter in the Jacobs family. She had always been around Jack and treated all the newsies like human beings rather then the street rats most people saw them as. Everybody missed her, but nobody as much as Jack. Even David couldn't compete with the remorse Jack felt, and he was her brother, for God's sake.

            "Jack, you a'right?" Spot asked, not really expecting an answer. He just did it so Jack knew he was still there.

            "I want ya ta go sit with da other guys, Spot. I'm fine on me own."

            Spot studied the face of his best friend. Not even a trace of emotion could be found on his face. Seeing nothing scared the shit out of Spot.

            "Are ya sure?" Spot asked slowly.

            "Yeh…I heard dat there was a greenie. Why don't ya go meet him?" Jack took a long drag on his cigarette, his way of telling Spot that the conversation was over. 

            "A'right. I'll be back in a bit," Spot said, grabbing his hat and cane and walking over to the group of newsies clogging the tables of Tibby's. 

            Each one of the guys sitting at the tables was laughing and smiling, except one, who, like Jack, was pushed back from the group. Spot immediately knew he was the greenie. 

            "Hey Spot." Came a voice from behind.     

            "Heya Mouth. How's things goin' with you?" 

            "As good as ever. Met a girl…" David's smile was wide and bright and Spot couldn't help but laugh.

            "Eh, good for you!" He said, slapping his friend on the shoulder. 

            "Well, I want to talk to someone, so I'll see you later," David chuckled to himself before making his way over to the greenie. As Spot watched his friend say something to the new guy, something about the guy struck his memory. There was something about his eyes that made Spot remember someone or something that he couldn't name. Familiarity washed over Spot, but he ignored it. He didn't know who this guy was. After a while, all greenies started to look the same. He was probably just related to another Manhattan newsie or something.

            His mind, though, thought about a sobbing girl whose sorrow had touched his seemingly impenetrable heart.

~

            "Hey Sam," David said before taking a seat across from her. He was smiling, his eyes bright and cheerful. She could tell that their discussion from before had been forgotten. 

            "Hey Davey," She said with a smile. 

            "I won't let you sit by yourself. What kind of friend would I be if I let you become an antisocial scab??"

            " What exactly are you suggesting??" She asked slowly, her eyes narrowing. David's smile only widened, which didn't strike her as a good thing. 

            "Well, I'm going to introduce you to some of the best minds in the business." 

            Before she could respond, she noticed Spot approaching and her heart skipped a beat. He had his hair hidden beneath a hat, one that seemed to be a "tool of the trade." He had the sleeves of his navy blue shirt rolled up, revealing well-muscled arms. She averted her gaze so she wouldn't do something stupid, but David noticed that she had been looking at Spot. Thank God he misinterpreted the look. 

            With a devilish glint in his eyes, David leaned across the table, "That's Spot Conlon, you know. The one you were just looking at. He's the Brooklyn leader. Don't get on his bad side. He can be such a scab sometimes." Sam was pretty sure David had raised his voice so Spot would hear him.

            "I got ears, Mouth," Spot said, raising his chin defiantly. Sam couldn't believe that this arrogant guy before her was the same person who had comforted her. 

            "I didn't say anything, Mr. Conlon, sir," David said innocently, a wide grin giving away his otherwise well formed lie. 

            "Aw, don't make me soak ya, Davey," Spot said, his eyes narrowing. Sam held her breath, waiting for him to attack, but Spot didn't move. He began to laugh instead, causing Sam to sigh in relief. She had thought he was really going to beat up David. 

            "So, dis the newest victim?" Spot asked, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye.

            "Otherwise known as Sam," She said boldly, hating how she felt like she was being patronized. The way Spot was talking to her _through_ David was…annoying.  

            Spot turned to her, his eyes narrowed. She could tell he wasn't going to laugh. She hadn't been joking.

            "Ya better watch it, Davey, or he might just steal away your title as Mouth," Spot said, his voice cold. She winced as he turned away and walked over to Striker and a blonde newsie. 

            "Good job at not getting on his bad side," David said sarcastically. Sam glared at him, remembering how he had always been derisive towards her. 

            "Oh shut up!" She exclaimed, turning her attention to Striker, who had stood up and was yelling for everyone to be quiet.

            "Hey bums!! Pay attention!!" He yelled, waiting for his fellow newsies to stop talking before continuing, "Ok, there was another attack. Dis time it was a newsie from East Side. He's messed up real bad."

            "Davey, what's Striker talking about??" Sam whispered to her friend. 

            "Newsies from Queens have been attacking kids from other parts of New York for the past few weeks," He said quietly, his eyes still on Striker, who had paused to take a drag on his cigarette.

            "Why?"

            "Queens is after territory. They've always been greedy and, now that they have a new leader, they're trying to get what they think they deserve. They think that by soaking newsies, we'll give up our selling territory."

            Sam shivered, thinking about Queens. If they ever took over Manhattan, she'd probably be too afraid to leave her home. Even three years later, the mere mention of the area made her ill.

            "Striker, we can't just sit around and wait for 'nother attack!! I say we march down ta Queens and soak a few of the scabs to get our message across!!" Said a blonde newsie with an eye patch. A bunch of other newsies cheered in agreement. 

            With one hand raised to silence the newsies, Spot rose from his seat, "Blink, der ain't gonna be no soakin' of Queens newsies, ya understand??" The authority in his calm voice was admirable.

            "But…Spot…" Blink started. Spot raised his hand again and Blink shut his mouth.

            "If I learned anythin' from last year's strike, it was dat nobody ain't gonna listen to us if all we do is soak scabs! Dat's doing exactly what they want!! And I ain't gonna do it. Me fists ain't gonna hit nobody unless some nobody _tries_ to hit me first!" His eyes had gone dark gray and he was scanning the faces of his fellow newsies, looking for someone bold enough to stand against him.

            "Spot's right," Came a voice from the back of the restaurant. Everyone turned, including Sam, and met a man whose face was shadowed by a cowboy hat, "If I find out dat one of me newsies has soaked anyone who didn't go after dem first, they's on the streets, no questions asked."

            Spot's chin jutted up and he nodded, "Same thing goes for Brooklyn."

            Sam's brow furrowed and she leaned towards David again, "Some of the newsies actually _want_ to fight Queens??"

            David shook his head solemnly," No. They're not looking for a fight…" He paused, his eyes traveling over to Blink, who was glaring with his arms crossed, "They're looking for a war."

~

            Sam's mind was too full of thoughts to notice that the sun was setting below the buildings or that the streets were growing dark. She was too busy wondering about David and Spot and Queens and the potential war to realize that her mother was whistling in the kitchen, something that hadn't happened since the death of Sam's father. Her mother was rarely happy enough to smile, let alone whistle.

            But Sam didn't notice. She was engrossed in her thoughts and fears, almost tripping as she began to climb up the stairs. 

            "Sam, you have a visitor!" Her mother called, making her almost fall down the staircase. She bolted up the remaining steps, shocked that someone was visiting her.

            Sitting at the kitchen table was the man from Tibby's who had threatened the Manhattan newsies. She was positive that they had called him Jack. 

            "Heya Sam," Jack said, standing from the table. He turned and smiled at her mother, "And thanks for the wata', Mrs. Carstairs."

            Her mother merely smiled and turned away, but Sam knew she was blushing.

            "Er...Sam…I was wondering if I could talk to you alone for a bit," Jack said after a minute of very awkward silence. Her mother turned around and opened her mouth to object, but Jack flashed her a smile and said, "It's boring newsies talk, Mrs. Carstairs. Nothing that would interest you."

            "Alright. Sam, take Jack out onto the fire escape. Troy's taking a nap and I don't want to wake him." 

            Sam nodded at her mother's back and walked towards her room, waiting for Jack to follow. The window was open and she was about to climb out onto the fire escape, but Jack's voice stopped her.

            "Is this your sister's room?"

            Sam froze, her mind coming to a sharp halt. What was she going to say?? She couldn't lie…her mom was right outside. She couldn't tell the truth either. If Jack knew she was lying about her identity, her paper-selling career would be over. 

            "David told me about your twin. That's the reason I'm here, actually. Da…" Jack's eyes closed and his lips quavered, "David said Samantha used to be friends with Sar…with David's sister. I just…wanted to talk to her."

            The desperation in Jack's voice made her want to admit that she, in fact, was the person he wanted to speak with…but she knew she couldn't.

            "I'm really sorry…she died in a factory accident a year ago."

            Jack took a deep breath before turning to meet her eyes, "David forgot to mention that." What she assumed was an attempted smile crossed Jack's lips, but quickly died.  

            "Sarah and I used to be friends, if that can help." Sam said quietly, wondering why Jack was so evidently depressed.

            "I dunno…it's just that ever since she died…"

            "Wait…Sarah died?? When?? Of what??" Sam exclaimed, her eyes widening and threatening to fill with tears. 

            A sigh escaped Jack's lips, "Ya know, I can't even remember how long it's been. I just remember all the blood that one day…her last day. I…I'm just kinda surprised David didn't say anything. I'm sorry I hadta break da news." 

            "David forgot to mention that, too, I guess," She said bitterly. 

Review, darling children. Show me you love me :D 


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